


Put Up Your Dukes

by poprocks



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Foreplay, Idiots in Love, Spanking, and gamora is weirdly into it, being silly as hell, mostly peter's just being a dork, though sort of but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 00:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11771760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poprocks/pseuds/poprocks
Summary: Peter Quill is going to die one day.





	Put Up Your Dukes

**Author's Note:**

> My bad or the most misleading summary on the planet. This isn't actually angsty or gut-wrenching, mostly just ridiculous. 
> 
> A prompt from **sodalimepop** @ tumblr. (Which, damn, guys, check out her Starmora art, she's mega talented.)  
>  _"How about Peter smacks Gamora's ass for kicks during foreplay and instead of her killing him like he expected she's just like ok that was weird but do it again"_

Peter Quill is going to die one day.

Which, okay, is a pretty morbid thing for him to think about, but he’s gotten into some seriously sticky situations in the past, and the fact that he’s still around to stumble through the galaxy with the Guardians is kind of a miracle. He should have died at least six times in the last three months alone, but somehow, he’s still kicking, and that’s great.

But Peter is obviously going to die one day, and he doesn’t actively think about the “how” if he can help it (blasted into oblivion by a Kree purist? Sucked into a black hole or getting on the wrong end of a flerken? Maybe that hot Rajak girl is gonna find a bigger, meaner fork.). Whatever, the “how” doesn’t matter, because it could be anything.

Today, however, it’s  _probably_  gonna be Gamora.

Things had been getting hot and heavy – in the way that still kind of blows Peter’s mind, because holy shit, Gamora is the best kisser in the universe. She should so win an award for it, but after Peter had made that particular comment, she’d just looked at him like he was being especially absurd.

(“Awards for kissing don’t exist, Peter.”

“I’m just sayin’. If they did? You’d be a dead ringer.”

She’d rolled her eyes and gone right back to kissing him, so that was still a win in his book.)

But they’d been kissing in the hall leading to his room, Gamora with that fiery edge of hers that couldn’t  _quite_ wait until they were in the privacy of the captain’s quarters, and Peter is far from complaining as her tongue slides along his, as he rucks a hand up under her shirt. He palms her breast lightly, and that soft purr of approval is what actually motivates him to fumble around for the door panel so they can stumble into his room before someone hears them. Peter has no issue making out in dark corners with Gamora, but they’re just tempting fate if they try to do something more intense where any of the others could happen upon them.

(And, fuck, Peter so doesn’t want to deal with the taunting and fake gagging and any number of immature mockery that would follow.

… At least until Gamora managed that “I’m going to rip your liver out through your nostrils” look, which tends to shut anyone up pretty damn fast.)

Gamora’s shirt is gone and Peter’s follows with it, abandoned thoughtlessly with the rest of the clothes on his messy floor. Gamora looks like she’s about to comment about the state of his laundry, but he ducks his head, grazes lips and teeth along the line of her throat, and the criticism dies on her tongue. He loves the soft noises he gets out of her when they do this, and he loves how much  _louder_  she can be, how open and free she is – in stark contrast to her usual unaffected air. His hands find her pants, and he eases them down her hips as he bites at the tendon where her neck meets her shoulder.

“ _Peter._ ”

Oh, fuck, that’s like goddamn music. Better than the first bars in  _Come and Get Your Love_ , more invigorating than the bass line in  _The Chain._

He’s never going to get tired of hearing her say his name.

Gamora steps out of her pants, and Peter’s palms appreciatively slide over the curve of her ass, squeezing as he draws her closer.

“ _God_ , you sound good,” he mumbles into her skin, nuzzling and kissing his way back up to her jaw.

He can hear the smile in her voice when she replies, “So you’ve said.”

Somehow, they manage to migrate towards the big bed at the center of the room. Peter thanks his reflexes immensely when he doesn’t trip along the way (because that would be seriously embarrassing), and he laughs when Gamora breaks their kiss to shove him onto the bed. He lands on the tangled blankets, his shoulders bouncing once, and then Gamora is above him, her hands propping her up beside his head, her knees braced by his hips. They kiss, again and again, and Peter’s head spins with it, with the absolute  _delight_ that accompanies being so close to the most incredible woman in the galaxy. His hands slide over her waist, down her hips, and they settle on her ass again, eager to pull her closer.

“You,” she murmurs, breaking away to nip at his jaw, “need to lose your pants.”

“Demanding,” Peter says with a laugh, giving her a squeeze, and then—

He totally smacks her ass.

It’s  _meant_  as a joke, but he also kind of does it before his brain even catches up with itself, and—

Gamora stills above him, and, yep, yep, this is where he dies.

He did  _not_  just spank the deadliest assassin this side of the milky way. He did  _not._

… Nope, the stinging in his palm says he definitely did.

“Uh—” Peter scrambles for an apology. “That was— shit, I didn’t— okay, but pleasedon’tkillme.”

Gamora pulls back to look down at him, curls falling over her shoulder and nearly tickling his cheek. God, she looks so intense (but she always looks intense), and she’s considering him, long and hard, and fuck, she’s gonna break his jaw, she totally is—

“… Do that again.”

It’s right about now that Peter’s sure he’s had a stroke. That’s the only explanation, because he must have entirely misunderstood; she could not have just told him to slap her ass again.

“… Uh.”

“’Uh’ what?” she asks pointedly. “Did you not hear me?”

“No, no, I, uh— I totally heard you. Loud and clear. I just—”

“You what?” She cocks her head, almost bird-like, and that intensity hasn’t gone anywhere.

“I— totally thought you were gonna be so not down with that.”

“Then why did you do it in the first place?”

“Uh… instinct?”

“Instinct told you to spank me?”

“No, no, I mean, it was like— fuck, I don’t know, I was just playing around.”

“And I told you to do it again.”

Peter blinks owlishly at her, then carefully ventures, “… Because it felt good?”

“Yes.” Blunt, to the point. A thoroughly Gamora response in the way it completely lacks elaboration.

Peter hesitates for a few seconds, like he’s weighing whether or not she’s messing with him, and then pulls his hand back, bringing it down in a new spot on the swell of her ass.

Gamora doesn’t jerk with it or wince, but instead, she hums in quiet approval.

… Oh, okay. Something to squirrel away for later, probably.

She doesn’t give him much of a chance to think about her reaction, leaning in to claim his lips all over again. She kisses him until he’s thoroughly breathless, and then she pulls back, drags her teeth along his bottom lip. “Pants,” she murmurs. “ _Now._ ”

Fuck, that voice is going to kill him. He scrambles under her to follow that order, fumbling with his jeans and boxers. She doesn’t let him kick them off completely, because once his cock is exposed, she sits on his thighs, straightening up to look down at him. Her palms smooth across the hard planes of his stomach, and he can feel his breathing kicks into high gear, the way his pulse pounds in his ears as he looks up at Gamora – gorgeous and naked and  _touching him._

Peter Quill is going to die one day.

And it’s probably going to be because Gamora stopped his goddamn heart.


End file.
